


Can't Forget

by mommymuffin



Series: Breathe Me [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions of Murder, Human Sacrifice, Jennifer Blake is the Darach, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Manipulation, Murder, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:30:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3333575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommymuffin/pseuds/mommymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We don't know who could have killed Gerard, so we'll just have to assume there's some unknown third party out there," Chris says. "I wouldn't jump to the conclusion that they're on our side though."</p><p>"The Alphas and the sacrifices are still our biggest concerns," the Sheriff declares. "They're known threats."</p><p>"Nothing has changed with the darach, but the Alphas are down one," Derek says. "I imagine that mainly just pissed them off though. Or Kali anyway. They'll probably be making their next move sooner rather than later."</p><p>"I have to agree with you there," Chris says, then frowns. "What was that about a darach?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> All right, folks. This chapter is super long (for a chapter in this series anyway). Consider it my gift to you to make up for all my slacking. Not that it's an excuse, but I was at a convention last weekend and since I'm a cosplayer, I was grinding out a costume in time for it (procrastination, yay!). Which! Actually wound up having to be finished two days earlier than the con because I needed it--to go on TV! Yay! I was on TV! Twice! It was pretty sweet! I was there to help promote the convention, hence the need for the cosplay (I was Catwoman--meow). If you haven't been on my tumblr recently, there's some pictures of it on there. God only knows if I tagged them though. Here's a link to one of the videos if you'd like to watch me ham it up: http://www.fox4news.com/clip/11105589/dallas-comic-con-fan-days (though I realize reading this chapter is FAR more important ;D)
> 
> Without further ado, I give you the first installment of Part the Fifteenth. Enjoy~

Waking up Saturday morning is like some kind of dream. It's all different somehow, even though everything feels the same.

Stiles body is scarred, a reminder of the night before that Derek isn't expecting when he opens his eyes and looks at him. The witch is still asleep, but his shoulders are bared to the open air, sheets bunched around his waist. Derek stares at the sprawling Lichtenberg figure for a long time. He doesn't know why, but somewhere in the back of his mind he half-expected it to be gone this morning. There's no reason it would be though. It's a scar Stiles will carry for the rest of his life. Just like Derek's mark over his heart, the triskele brazed into his skin by the raw power of life. A physical sign of them. Of their life together as mates. Of their bond that traverses the pure energy of the earth to link them together.

Derek's hand reaches out of its own accord to trace over the lightning-tree on Stiles back. The teen stirs, grumpily mumbles into the pillow, then seems to place where he is and who has disturbed his slumber.

He peeks up at Derek through long lashes, eyes sparkling in mirth.

"Was last night not enough for you?" he asks seductively.

Derek smiles, soft and genuine. He leans in to press a kiss to Stiles' shoulder, saying, "I'll never get enough of you."

Stiles hums happily, nestling further into the bedding and closing his eyes once more. "Let's just stay in bed all day. It's Saturday."

"We can't. You have class."

"Ugh. Right," Stiles grumbles. "Thanks again for that, Dad. What time is it?"

"A quarter before nine. We should get up soon."

"Five more minutes," Stiles whines.

"Fine. Five more minutes," Derek says, sliding out of bed. He throws a smirk over his shoulder and adds, "I guess I can just shower alone."

Stiles' head pops up like a Whack-a-mole. "Don't you dare, Derek Hale," he warns.

Derek shrugs, sauntering over toward the bathroom, bare buttocks rolling nicely with his gait. "It's not really up to me," he says and disappears behind the door.

"Dammit," Stiles curses, scrambling out of bed after him. "You're using your powers for evil, Derek!"

Derek's laugh rings out clearly through the bedroom.

Their shower time almost makes them late.

 

In spite of his renewed eyesight Stiles will remain under Miss Blake's fine tutelage; after all as far as the rest of the world is concerned he's still recovering from a severe eye injury.

They make it to the Stilinski residence a quarter 'til. The Sheriff is nowhere to be found, but that's to be expected as they likely discovered a body burnt to a crisp on top of their usual sacrifice victim last night. Derek frowns deeply over a cup of coffee while Stiles talks around a Pop Tart and fills him in on what exactly happened in the woods with the hunters and Braeden and Miss Morrell. The teen nudges the werewolf, hip to hip, and reassures him that next time he'll bring more back-up—with the Alpha's permission of course. Derek opens his mouth to respond to that, but Jennifer arrives just then, putting the conversation on hold.

She's chipper as usual, settling in at one side of the table with a History lesson plan for today. Derek sits beside Stiles, quietly assisting them where he can. Stiles' eyes are hidden beneath dark shades once more, and though Jennifer can't see in, Stiles can most certainly see out. Oh yes, he sees the shy little smiles she gives Derek; the coquettish tilt to her head as she regards him from under her lashes; the hand that brushes over Derek's knuckles lightly when she reaches for a pen.

Stiles may _accidentally_ shift his feet and kick her under the table. Twice. Totally accidents, he swears.

Jennifer takes her injuries with good grace, smiling and scooting her chair over so it's _directly across from Derek_. Well, that backfired.

Stiles is seriously contemplating the merits of "accidentally"hitting her in the face with a textbook (he's supposed to be blind, he could get away with it), when the Sheriff arrives home in a flurry.

"Sheriff?" Derek asks, slowly rising to his feet. Stiles follows suit, Derek's hand at his elbow.

"Is everything all right?" Miss Blake asks, looking a little frightened.

Stiles is a little wigged out, too, to be honest. That look on a Sheriff's face is _never_ a good thing.

John visibly clamps down on his emotions; the stale anger; the muted panic; the outright franticness. He puts on his best authority voice and addresses the teacher.

"Miss Blake. I think it's best if you go home for the day."

"What…? Why? What's wrong?" she asks, standing up like the rest of them.

"There were...some things that happened last night. I'm not at liberty to divulge any details, but needless to say, I think the school work can wait. You'll be safer away from all of this for the time being. So please return to your home."

"Am...am I in danger?" Jennifer asks, gaze darting back and forth between Derek and the Sheriff.

"No. No, of course not," John assures. Derek hears the lie in his heartbeat. "But seeing as I'm the Sheriff and sometimes Sheriff's are targeted during investigations, I think it's best if you get some distance from...here."

"Well, all right…" she says slowly. Her eyes find Derek again and linger there for a second too long. "I...I guess I'll just go then…"

"Why doesn't Derek take you home?" John suggests, reading her hesitancy. "Make sure you get there okay?"

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Jennifer says, relieved. "I'm really sort of freaking out right now."

"There's no cause for alarm, I assure you," the Sheriff says. Stiles kind of doubts that.

"Okay. If you say so," Jennifer says with an unconvinced shrug, then goes about packing her things away.

"Derek, meet us at the station," John says as they head for the door.

Derek gives a curt nod, then glances at Stiles once before following Miss Blake out.

As soon as the sound of the door clicking shut reaches them, Stiles rounds on his dad.

"Dad. What the _hell_ is going on?"

"There were some deaths last night," John says lowly. "One of which I'm pretty sure you're aware of already."

"Yeah," Stiles says. "The Alpha I fried last night."

Sheriff Stilinski nods. "That's one of them. Another sacrifice is the second one."

"The sacrifice and the Alpha can't be what's got you all worked up."

"No. There was another death last night...It looked like a natural sort of thing, but...knowing what I know, I have to guess it was probably murder."

" _Murder?_ Who was _murdered?_ "

"Gerard Argent," the Sheriff says and Stiles swears the whole world tilts.

 

Stiles is sitting on a bench outside his father's office with his head in his hands, waiting on Derek to show up, when a pair of shiny shoes stops in front of him.

Stiles frowns at them, wondering who in the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department would wear shoes like that to work.

When a voice comes from above him, he realizes the answer is no one. Because the shoes and the voice don't belong to anyone employed by Beacon County.

"I can't say I'm shocked to find you in the middle of this, Stiles."

Stiles looks up, mouth twisted sourly, to see Rafael McCall standing in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asks. "Don't you know there's not a single person in this town, who ever wanted to see your face again?"

"I'm here on official FBI business," Agent McCall says dismissively. "Heard you were recently in an accident that damaged your eyes. Sorry to hear that." He doesn't sound sorry at all. He nods at the sunglasses. "How are they healing up?"

"Just fine. I'll be good as new in no time," Stiles says on the fly. He's supposed to still be sans sight. But the lie will fit their story. He'll just say he's still sensitive to light, hence the shades, and has to rest them every hour, hence the homeschooling. He can still pretend in front of Miss Blake.

"Care to tell me what's been going on around here?"

"Why do you think I would know?"

"Because you've turned up at a lot of crime scenes of late, Stiles."

"You know, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to talk to you without a parent or guardian present," Stiles says.

Rafael nods. His whole demeanor is patronizing. It always has been, even when Stiles was a little kid, Rafa had always had a way of talking down to him. Stiles has disliked him since pretty much the first time he met him. His condescension toward Stiles' father and his abuse and abandonment of Scott and Melissa only solidifying that dislike into something resembling hatred in later years. Stiles wouldn't mind messing up Rafael McCall a little bit. Just a tad. Nothing permanent. Just _something_ to show him that hurting Stiles' loved ones isn't going to pass without retribution.

"Your dad's been pretty busy though, hasn't he?" Rafael inquires. "I imagine he hasn't been around much. Is that why you've been getting into so much trouble lately?"

"That the best you got?" Stiles challenges. "Goading me by using my father?"

"I'm not goading you," Rafa says casually. "If I were goading you, I would say something like, 'has he been drinking again? Is that why you've been acting up'?"

Stiles surges to his feet. "You wanna know something, Mr. McCall? When it comes to you and my dad for father of the year, my dad will win every time. Because he may have had some issues after my _mom_ died, but here's what he'll always have over you: he _stayed_. Yeah. That's right. He fucked up and he stuck around to deal with it like a man. And what did you do? You ran away. And don't think I don't know why you left, Mr. McCall," Stiles spits, "because I know all about what happened on the stairs."

Rafe's eyes narrow. He glances left to right, taking in how much of a scene they're making. His hand comes up to grab Stiles by the arm, no doubt to lead him somewhere more private, but an iron grip clamps down on his wrist before Rafael's fingers even brush the fabric of Stiles' sleeve.

" _Don't_. Touch him..." Derek says, voice low and dangerous.

Rafael looks at Derek for a prolonged moment. He must decide that attempting to manhandle Derek probably isn't a good idea and lowers his hand, Derek releasing it so he can. The handful of deputies that had been watching the exchange, relax slightly.

"Who are you?" Agent McCall asks.

"Derek Hale," Derek replies, menacing glare dialed up to eleven.

" _Derek_ _Hale_?" Rafael repeats in disbelief.

"How do you even know who that is?" Stiles queries.

"Oh, I've read the files, Stiles. _All_ the files. You're running around with Derek Hale? Why does that not surprise me?"

"Why should it? It's not like you've been gone the past seven years and don't know me from the next teenager. Oh, wait," Stiles snipes.

"I remember you well enough, Stiles. And you always had a penchant for trouble."

Stiles meets his gaze head-on. "You don't know the first thing about me," he says darkly.

Derek steps closer to Stiles, defensive of him. Rafael only continues to stare Stiles down, which the teen returns defiantly. They only stop because someone clears their throat—loudly.

It's Chris Argent. His eyes land on Stiles and Derek, shortly cutting to Agent McCall and the badge hanging from his neck before ignoring him. He smiles at them, the picture of a polite neighbor.

"Stiles, Derek. I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Who's this?"

Stiles takes great pleasure in informing Chris, "This is Agent Rafael McCall. Scott's "dad"."

Derek casts a surprised look back at Stiles at the news. Chris is still smiling, but his eyes go suddenly cold. He shakes Rafael's hand and says, "Chris Argent. Never thought I'd meet _you_."

It's a jab and the blow lands hard. Rafe shuffles awkwardly and clears his throat.

 _Not so easy to pick on a fellow adult, is it?_ Stiles thinks satisfactorily.

"It's nice to meet you, Chris."

"Mr. Argent," Chris corrects. Stiles could high-five the man right now. "I've got a meeting with the Sheriff, so if you'll excuse me."

That piques Rafe's interest. "A meeting with the Sheriff? What for?"

"My father passed away suddenly last night. The Sheriff just wants to ask a few questions. Make sure there was no reason to suspect foul play," Chris answers easily.

"I see," Rafe says. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Chris says automatically.

The look he's giving Agent McCall seems to quell any thoughts the man may have had for further interrogation of either Chris or of Derek and Stiles.

He takes a step back and bows his head in acknowledgement. "I'll leave you to it then. It was nice meeting you, _Mr. Argent_. Stiles, I'll be seeing you. You too, Mr. Hale."

"Looking forward to it," Derek says with menace. Stiles grins manically beside him.

Agent McCall departs and Chris turns to look at the remaining two in judgment. "Is antagonizing him really a good idea?" he asks.

"I've been doing it since the day I met him," Stiles says. "I see no reason to stop now. Besides, what's he going to charge me with? Witchcraft? We're in the wrong century for that."

"A fair point, I suppose," Chris says shrewdly. "Let's go talk to your father about what happened last night."

The talk goes abysmally. Stiles finally has to come clean about what went down in the distillery. Naturally his father does not take well to the news that his only child " _died and came back to life, Jesus Christ, Stile_ s." Chris doesn't take it well either. The hunter gives the teen a hard look, like he disapproves of such spellwork. Naturally the look makes Derek go on the offensive. It's only because the Sheriff is there as the voice of authority that it doesn't escalate into outward threats.

Once he's calmed the storm between the other two men, the Sheriff buries his face in his hands and takes a moment to just breathe. Speaking through his palms he asks, "Stiles. Son. This magic. Your magic. It's...it's powerful?"

" _Super_ powerful," Stiles counters. "Something had been stemming the flow, but now I've got access to all of it and there's—there's a lot of it. I can't really describe it, but I just _know_. I can feel it, there's a lot in here," Stiles covers his chest with a hand. "I'm stronger than ever now _and_ I've got Cor back and—Dad, look...I'm sorry that I died. I wasn't actually planning on it, y'know, it was just a backup plan, but that's how it went down and...I need you to understand something.

"This is _my_ fight. And _something_ wants me to win it. The...the nemeton or the earth or whatever, but _something_ is trying to help me— _me_ and not anybody else, because no one else can do this—and _I_ can _do this_. I'm sorry that you're scared and worried, but all this _evil_ isn't going to just go away if we decide to stop fighting it. If we stop fighting it, it'll win, Dad. And that can't happen."

The Sheriff looks at his son for a long, long time, then finally says, "I wish it didn't have to be you. But, I think you're right: it's you or no one. Something chose you to do this, and there's nothing we can do to change that." John sighs, then steels his resolve. "Whatever comes, I'm with you, son. I won't try to stop you."

"Thanks, Dad," Stiles says, genuine and heartfelt.

Derek slides a hand into his and squeezes, a small reminder that Stiles has him, too.

"Me too," Chris speaks up and the trio looks at him. "This certainly isn't...the _conventional_ means that a hunter works by, but Stiles is right. There are things out there that need to be stopped and he's the only one that can do it. Count me in."

Stiles grins boyishly at him and replies, "Thanks. Promise I won't go darkside."

Chris rolls his eyes. "That really puts my mind at ease, Stiles," he comments sarcastically.

"He won't," Derek says. "I'm here."

Stiles elbows Derek gently. "That's right. I've got my very own anchor to keep me from going off the deep end."

"I'll hold you to that, Derek," Chris says seriously to which Derek nods.

The Sheriff is thinking he needs to have an in-depth discussion with Chris Argent covering everything he knows about witches and magic and Stiles' magic in particular. But there are other things happening right now that take priority, so he moves the conversation along a different avenue.

No one has any clue what happened to Gerard.

"Do you really think it was a natural death?" John asks.

"I doubt it," Chris replies. "With all that's going on?"

"I thought the same thing," Sheriff Stilinski admits.

"So what happens now?" Stiles asks. "Do the hunters leave?"

"They will if I make them," Chris says. "Without Gerard around, I can pull rank and run them out of town. Which I plan on doing—with extreme prejudice."

"That's the best news I've heard in weeks," Stiles says, grin lopsided. "That's one problem down."

"But we're up one problem. Whoever killed Gerard," the Sheriff points out.

"Think it was the Alphas?" Stiles asks hopefully. "I know about Deucalion and Gerard."

Chris shakes his head. "Deucalion may have had a grudge against Gerard, but I think he was a little too busy with something _else_ last night," he says with a pointed look aimed at Stiles. "Same goes for the one committing sacrifices, not that they'd have a reason to single out Gerard anyway."

The Sheriff nods in agreement. "Can't be in two places at once." He pauses. "Can you?"

"No, Derek assures him.

"Oh, thank god," John breathes out.

"We don't know who could have killed Gerard, so we'll just have to assume there's some unknown third party out there," Chris says. "I wouldn't jump to the conclusion that they're on our side though."

"The Alphas and the sacrifices are still our biggest concerns," the Sheriff declares. "They're known threats."

"Nothing should change with the darach, but the Alphas are down one," Derek says. "I imagine that mainly just pissed them off though. Or Kali anyway. They'll probably be making their next move sooner rather than later."

"I have to agree with you there," Chris says, then frowns. "What was that about a darach?"

" _What_ is a darach?" the Sheriff asks pointedly.

"A dark druid. Just plain evil basically," Stiles tells him. "It's who's sacrificing people. At least that's what the Alphas think." He scoffs. "Deucalion actually thought it was me. Thanks for _that_."

Chris' expression darkens. "I was afraid of this."

Three pairs of eyebrows go up around the room.

"You mean you knew what it was?" John asks.

"No. I wasn't sure. I hadn't gathered enough evidence, but...well…I can share what I've found."

"By all means," the Sheriff says.

"It's at my house," Chris says. "It'd be easier to show you."

"Then, let's go," Stiles says.

 

Chris leads them into what looks to be a study or home office. He walks them over to the sturdy wooden table to one side, covered in papers. No one is expecting him to push the papers aside and pull out a black light, but that's exactly what he does. When he does, writing appears on the table. Five words, each occupying one circle of the fivefold knot: _Virgin, Warrior, Healer, Philosopher, Guardian_.

"Holy crap," Stiles says. "Why didn't you show us this sooner?"

"I didn't want us to be chasing down the wrong theory," Chris says. "But after you said it was a darach, that pretty much settled it for me."

"What is this?" Derek asks.

"It's an old Celtic ritual—for sacrificing people, in case that wasn't clear. There's five types of people that need to be sacrificed, three each for fifteen total. These are the five types."

Stiles says, "I dreamed this symbol, the fivefold knot. It was written on the roots of the nemeton, too."

"I know. That's where I first saw it and thought of this ritual," Chris informs him. "You say you dreamed it?"

Stiles nods. "And Lydia drew it in her notebooks. She's a banshee by the way."

Chris eyebrows pop in surprise, but then he nods once. "Makes sense. All right. Then I'd say we're right on the money with this."

"Looks that way," the Sheriff agrees.

"So what victims have died so far?" Derek queries.

"The lifeguard," the Sheriff begins listing, and Stiles shuffles a clean piece of paper to the surface and begins jotting them down. "Three high schoolers. The band teacher. And Harris last night."

Stiles winces slightly.

"Don't feel bad about that one, do you?" the Sheriff asks.

"Harris was a douche, but he didn't deserve to die," Stiles states. "Can't say I'm going to miss him though. I would have had him again for physics next year."

"So six victims falling into five categories," Derek prompts to get Stiles back on task.

"Right," the teen says, scribbling down five headings, then the numbers 1 through 15. "So, the lifeguard. Guardians?"

He receives nods and assigns it the appropriate category and number.

"The next one?" Derek asks.

"A gangly teenager," John says.

"I'm guessing virgin," Chris says bluntly.

"Hey, not all gangly teenagers possess the inability to get laid," Stiles says. "I can guarantee you that—"

"What did I say about "I don't want to hear it"?" John moans, pressing his hand over his eyes to squeeze his temples.

"He started it," Stiles grumbles. "Next?"

"A young girl. Few friends, not very social. Probably also virgin."

"Next?"

"Another high school student…"

"Virgin?"

"Maybe not. He had high honors in ROTC."

"...Warrior, then."

"Best guess."

"The band teacher?"

"Philosopher? That's like teaching," Derek says.

"Philosopher it is. For Harris, too, then," Stiles says.

"So that's our six. One guardian, two virgins, one warrior, and two philosophers," the Sheriff surmises.

"No healers," Chris says.

"Is it random?" Derek asks.

"It's in a one-two pattern," the Sheriff counters. "So is it?"

"I'm not sure," Chris admits. "Our knowledge on darachs is limited. Most hunters who cross one don't live to tell the tale."

Stiles stares at the paper for a long moment, then suddenly begins writing names in again.

"Stiles, what…?" John starts, but stops when he sees the names his son is writing down.

"Deaton is number 9...Tara is 10...Mr. Westover is 11….and...Ms. McCall, Dad, and Mr. Argent are...13, 14, and 15."

Stiles puts the pen down and bites his bottom lip.

"Stiles," the Sheriff begins.

"I know. I should have told you sooner, I know. But I didn't want anybody to panic and I thought maybe we could stop it in time… Those are the rest of the people I recognized from my vision. I don't know the last three."

"Stiles," the Sheriff says sternly, placing a hand on his son's shoulder, "you should have told me I was one of the sacrifices."

Stiles looks at his father, eyes wet. "I thought I could stop it."

"Son…"

The Sheriff pulls Stiles into a tight hug. He pats him on the back and says, "We can still stop it. _We,_ you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you," Stiles says.

They separate and Stiles smiles sadly at his father before looking at Chris.

"Sorry I didn't tell you you were in my vision."

"It's all right," Chris says. "I suspected I might be one of the targets from the start."

"Why?" Stiles asks.

"Hunters usually are," Chris says matter-of-factly.

"If this is right, then…what's the pattern?" Sheriff Stilinski asks.

The four of them stare at the paper for a long time, no revelations forthcoming.

Suddenly Stiles' head jerks up. "The purity ring."

The Sheriff asks, "What?"

"The purity ring. I saw it on the first vic's body when I went to the morgue. He made a promise of chastity. He was a _virgin_."

"Right, okay," John agrees. "So not a guardian."

Stiles attacks the paper then. He scribbles through the lifeguard under the Guardians heading and puts it under Virgins. Then he lists out Melissa, the Sheriff, and Chris under guardians.

The other three men frown.

"I can see Chris and myself being guardians…" the Sheriff says, "but Melissa is a nurse. Shouldn't she be a healer?"

Stiles shakes his head. "She could be. But she's a guardian."

"How do you figure?" John asks.

"She's a parent," Stiles says decisively. "You all are. "A parent or guardian." Like on forms."

"I think you're right. That's excellent work, Stiles," Chris says.

Stiles grins. "Thanks. I only thought of it, 'cause I said it to Mr. McCall earlier."

John scowls. "I see you know he's in town then."

"Oh, yeah. He and Derek almost threw down in the lobby. When did he get here?"

"This morning. Him and a few other agents. This current serial killer has them worried, I think."

"Why?" Derek asks.

"Because we just dealt with our last serial killer last month. It's too frequent. I think they think something bigger is going on here. Like a cult," the Sheriff supplies.

"Well, people _are_ being sacrificed," Stiles allows.

"It's in groups of three," Chris says suddenly. They all look to him and he points to the first and last groups on the page. "Look. Three virgins. Three warriors. The ones in between must be wrong."

"The power of three," Stiles mutters. "Very important in magic. Probably should have guessed that."

His hands roam over the names for a moment and then he snaps his fingers.

"This guy, Kyle. ROTC. Warrior. Harris and the band teacher are ex-military. Also warriors." Stiles makes the adjustments to the list. "So Deaton, Tara, and Mr. Westover… Mr. Westover is probably still a philosopher. He's never done anything but teach, I think. And Tara—Tara used to teach before she was a cop, so she's also a philosopher."

"Deaton?" Derek asks.

"He's got to be a healer. He's number 9." Stiles writes it all down, draws question marks in the places he doesn't know who's who, writes male or female next to them based on the nemeton's omen.

"We should tell Deaton," Derek says. "He might be able to stop it from happening to himself."

"Yeah. Or at least buy us enough time to save him," Stiles says.

"Derek, Stiles. Go inform him," the Sheriff instructs.

"What about Miss McCall?" Stiles asks.

"She doesn't need to know just yet," John says.

"See what I mean?" Stiles says.

The Sheriff waves him away. "Yeah, yeah. Get out of here."

 

Deaton accepts the news with his usual calm. They discuss all that happened at the distillery. The veterinarian tells Stiles that he believes the teen can find a way to stop the darach with his restarted powers. Stiles tells him he plans on doing it as soon as possible.

What none of them planned on was for the sacrifices to suddenly stop.


	2. You're a Wanted Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, another super long chapter! Aren't you lucky? :D
> 
> A note: there is no true Alpha Scott in this story. This story is about Stiles and Derek. Just FYI. ;D

"I don't understand," Stiles says. "Why would they just stop?"

"I have no idea," Chris answers, staring down at their list of victims.

The whole pack is downstairs in the Argent home. It's more than a little strange and everyone was very uncomfortable at first. When Allison offered to get everyone drinks, Erica and Boyd just stared ahead in stony silence. Cora and Peter weren't doing much better, basically lurking in one corner of the room on and behind an armchair. They may all fight together side by side when the situation calls for it, but casually being in a hunter's home—in an _Argent's_ home—is an entirely different matter. Stiles had had mercy on everyone involved and volunteered to go the kitchen to get drinks; he brought out a tray with a variety and then excused himself to go upstairs with Chris and his dad. Derek stayed behind to keep an eye on everyone, but he's still got half an ear on the conversation upstairs.

"Is it...are they waiting for something?" the Sheriff asks.

"I don't know what they could be waiting for," Chris says. "The ritual is pretty straightforward."

"Maybe I messed them up somehow. With _my_ ritual," Stiles says.

"So you think they'll start up again tonight?" the Sheriff asks.

Stiles shrugs. "Beats me. Deaton might know."

"Haven't been able to get a hold of him," Sheriff Stilinski says.

"Great time to be taking a day off, Deaton," Stiles grumbles.

"All right," the Sheriff says decisively. "We don't know what's going on with the darach. What's our status on the hunters?"

"Gone," Chris says simply.

"Good. Any ideas about Gerard's very crucially timed death yet?"

Chris shakes his head.

"Okay," the Sheriff says with a nod. "What about the Alpha Pack?"

"Quiet so far," Stiles fills in. "The pack's going to confront the twins tomorrow at school. See if they can get some info."

The two men both nod in approval.

"So to sum up," Sheriff Stilinski says, "we're down the hunters and up one mysterious third party likely responsible for Gerard's death. The Alphas and the darach are still as unknown as ever."

"Yep…" Stiles says, drawing out the word.

There's a beat of silence.

The Sheriff sighs heavily.

"Great odds as usual," Stiles comments.

"I have to agree with you there, Stiles," Chris says.

"Great. Just great," the Sheriff says, running a hand over his face.

"Maybe whoever took out Gerard took out the darach," Stiles offers.

"You don't just "take out" a darach, Stiles," Chris says.

Stiles shrugs. "No one supports the guardian angel theory? No?"

He receives two blank stares.

Stiles sags. "Yeah...So what do we do?"

"We keep going," Chris says. "Something will happen eventually."

"We need to be ready for it," the Sheriff says.

"I suggest never leaving anyone alone," Chris says.

"Buddy system. I like it," Stiles says.

"Derek will stay with Stiles," the Sheriff begins, then shoots his son a stern look and adds, "and vice-versa."

"Yes, sir, Dad, sir," Stiles says with a jaunty salute.

"Allison and Lydia can stay together and with me," Chris says.

"You should have a werewolf with you," Derek says, walking into the room, apparently wanting in on this part of the conversation. "Someone who can hear someone coming."

Chris sighs. "Does it have to be Scott?"

Derek shakes his head. "It can be Isaac."

"Fine," Chris says.

"Scott will be with Boyd, then?" Stiles asks.

Derek nods.

"Cora and Erica?"

Another nod.

"What about Dad?"

Derek gives Stiles a level stare and Stiles does the math. He does not like what it adds up to.

"Oh, no, come on! You're gonna put _Peter_ with my dad?" Stiles whines.

"It makes the most sense. Peter doesn't have to go to _school_. He can stay close to you no matter where you go, Sheriff."

"That's...reassuring," John says, frowning deeply.

"He'll stay hidden," Derek says, then cocks his head toward the doorway. He sighs. "He promises to keep you safe "cross his heart and hope to die"."

Stiles' face screws up in revolt. "Yeah, why don't you stick a needle in your eye, Peter!" he calls out

Chris looks levelly at Stiles and says, "If you would like, Stiles, I would be more than happy to _assist_ Peter, while the girls are at school."

Stiles sees the dark delight in Chris' eyes and smirks. "Deal."

Derek's smirk lets Stiles know all he needs to about Peter's reaction to that little arrangement.

 

The next several days pass strangely. It's eerily quiet around Beacon Hills. No sign of the Alphas, no sign of the darach. All killing sprees seem to be on hiatus for the moment (no one is foolish enough to think any of this is over).

When cornered in the stairwell by every adolescent member of the pack (sans Stiles), all the twins can tell them is that Deucalion has been quiet and Kali has been _pissed_. There's apparently been no talks of any plans for revenge or any plans at all actually.

"It's weird," Ethan comments and even to those without supernatural senses, he seems uneasy.

Stiles is starting to get paranoid.

"Don't stress yourself out," Derek tells him early one morning, while they're on the couch. Cor is in front of them, a little ball of joyous light as he prances around the room destroying a plastic dog toy the Sheriff purchased for him. Said Sheriff is in the kitchen, files spread all over the table as he pours through cold cases with a supernatural-savvy eye.

Weirdly enough, Peter is in there with him as he has nothing better to do and so has offered his knowledge of the past supernatural attacks in Beacon Hills to the Sheriff.

"How can I not be stressed, Derek?" Stiles argues. "We don't even know why the darach just up and decided to stop the ritual! I mean, don't get me wrong, it's good no one's dying at present. All the healers got lucky. And the philosophers and guardians after them. But for how long? Did the darach actually _stop_ or is this just a pause? Intermission? And why aren't we out there trying to figure it out? Why aren't we doing something?!"

"Stiles."

"Derek. We're sitting ducks! Just waiting for something to happen!"

"We're ready," Derek insists, pressing a kiss to Stiles' hair. "Just look at Cor."

Stiles does; the wolf is downright _ecstatic_ as he mauls the hunk of plastic. He laughs smally, relaxing. "Yeah, there is that." Stiles imagines Cor would love nothing more than for a threat to walk right through that door so he might rip it apart.

It's too bad it's only Miss Blake that arrives at the door an hour later.

 

Stiles is starting to get very bored with his home tutoring. Very, _very_ bored. As much as he never thought he would say this ever, he wishes he could just go back to school already.

It's where the pack is and he would feel better being with them—with their _Alpha_ being with them—all boredom aside. Not that Miss Blake doesn't make an effort to make her lessons interesting, but still...ADHD here.

Actually...no, wait.

Stiles blinks, straightening up slightly. It doesn't go unnoticed by Derek who shoots him a questioning look out of the corner of his eye. Stiles shakes his head minutely.

It's nothing important, certainly nothing _dire_ , just…

Stiles just realized he hasn't taken his Adderall all week. Since...since before the warehouse reboot.

Derek's head snaps toward the front door suddenly and Stiles is instantly alert. Peter appears in the doorway, eyes affixed to the front hall as well.

Stiles stands when Derek does.

"What is it?" he asks lowly.

" _Them_ ," Derek replies.

Jennifer glances between the trio—now quartet, as the Sheriff is behind Peter with his gun in his hand—uncertainly.

"What...what's happening?" she asks, voice trembling as she, too, gets to her feet uncertainly.

"Jennifer, get behind us," Derek says as he makes sure Stiles is behind him.

"What's going on?" she asks desperately, backing into a corner.

"They're here," Derek barks. "Get ready."

Everyone in the small dining room tenses, crouches, braces, and then—

The doorbell rings.

A heavy thread of confusion ripples through the room and everyone has just relaxed a fraction, when there's suddenly a loud splintering bang. Jennifer yelps and covers her head; the Sheriff aims his weapon and two sets of claws slide out. Stiles latches on to the thrum in his veins and holds it just on the edge of igniting.

The front door bursts in, kicked right off its hinges. Kali the first through the entryway, squaring herself in the doorway as Deucalion strolls in behind her.

Stiles immediately notices something is missing.

"The twins," he says frantically.

But they're too slow and as they turn around the enormous Alpha twin hybrid slams the heel of a palm into Peter's nose. There's a sick crunching noise upon contact and the werewolf is flung back into the farthest corner right past Stiles and Derek. Peter crumples into a limp heap, nose alarmingly smashed up into his skull.

Stiles barely spares a thought for if he's alive or not as he takes a step toward the monstrosity. He freezes when the gun is knocked out of his father's hand, a shot firing and lodging in the ceiling.

"No!" Stiles screams, too late.

The twins haul the Sheriff in by the back of the collar and raise him up off the ground to dangle there. Then they reach over with their other massive hand and drag Miss Blake across the floor by the arm. She screams horribly, frightened to the core, while the Sheriff remains stoic and furious. The abomination stands stonily silent as it holds both humans carefully captive.

Cor appears in a swift cascade of light that pools into the wolf's shape. Stiles' eyes flash dangerously, _literally_ , as they shine white briefly.

"Put them down," he says lowly, heart in his throat.

"Stiles, calm down," Deucalion purrs from behind him.

The teen shoots a dark look over his shoulder at the man. Derek is still facing them, ready for when Kali no doubt makes her attack.

Deucalion continues, "Nothing will happen to your father or to your lovely, little tutor, I promise. No one else will be harmed here today, Stiles. Provided you cooperate, of course."

"This is getting really old," Stiles says, facing him. "How many times are you going to dangle our loved ones in front of us to try to get us to do what you want? We both know you're only doing it, because you have no hope of defeating me anymore."

Deucalion smiles wryly. "That's not entirely accurate, is it, Stiles? You may be fully charged now, but I imagine you still have very little idea of what it is exactly that you are capable of. Isn't that right?"

"I'm capable of ripping you apart and that's all that matters," Stiles snaps. Cor backs him up with grating growl that would put a _bear_ in its place. "Let them go—or else."

"Tsk tsk, Stiles. That's no way to speak to your elders," Deucalion scolds.

To illustrate his point the Voltron-wolf gives each human in its grasp a little shake. The Sheriff grits his teeth in in response, but Miss Blake cries out and looks to Derek beseechingly.

"Derek. Help, p-please. Please…" she begs of him. "Derek…"

Derek meets her stare head-on, yet doesn't budge an inch. His place is with Stiles—right in the middle of this mess.

Stiles rounds on Deucalion, the Alpha's point made.

"What the hell could you still possibly want, Deucalion? You've all but lost this fight."

"I do believe we're due for some retribution, Stiles. You killed one of mine and, while I could have just as easily gone after one of yours in return, I thought a one-on-one match might be more suitable. I feel its only fair to let Kali be the one to enact some payback for her lost love."

Kali's lip peels back and she practically _hisses_ , a devilish breath of air promising a swift end for Stiles.

A comeback is on the tip of Stiles' tongue, but something stops him dead.

Someone laughs.

It takes everyone aback to hear such an out-of-place sound in the cramped dining room. A small, slight cackle. The attention is drawn to the trio nearest the kitchen.

The Sheriff is looking to his right, flabbergasted, and even the twin-beast is looking down to the right, brow drawn in confusion.

It was Jennifer who laughed.

The woman is slumped forward, almost dangling from the Alpha's grip, her head drooped and face hidden by her hair. But there's no mistaking that the noise came from her.

It comes again, louder this time, and her shoulders shake with it.

"Miss Blake?" Stiles asks, bewildered.

"Love lost…" she says. " _Ha!_ You didn't love that brute, Kali...You aren't even capable of loving another person after you went and killed the last person you claimed to love." Jennifer's head comes up. A dark, sinister look in her eye startles her audience. "Or tried to kill anyway."

She moves suddenly; quickly; accurately. Her hands come up to grip the Franken-twin's head and in one swift, startling movement she turns its skull in her hands and snaps its neck.

The behemoth goes down like a lead weight. The Sheriff stumbles out of its slack grasp, looking back at it in shock. His gaze catches Jennifer's eye and she smirks.

"Sorry, Sheriff. I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest on my résumé."


	3. Your Own Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look a new chapter! 
> 
> See note at the end about a thingy that may potentially be spoiler-y so it's at the end, yeah??
> 
> And--ACTION!

The general aura of the room is stunned disbelief. Every person left conscious or alive is watching Jennifer Blake in the manner that one might watch a rattlesnake that is coiled and buzzing.

Stiles reaches out, fumbling blindly until he grabs his dad by the arm and pulls him along, putting him in between he and Derek. Sensing a threat, Cor steps up in front of them at the ready. That's good news, because Stiles and Derek certainly aren't ready for anything right now, minds too busy _reeling_.

"Jennifer…" Derek says, tone asking for an explanation.

"Derek," she says sweetly. "It's just too bad it didn't work out between us. I just couldn't drag you away from that twink."

"Hey!" Stiles says.

"Pity," she says, ignoring the teen. "I really would have liked to have had an Alpha on my side." Her gaze sharpens and she directs it at Stiles as she malevolently adds, "I really would have liked to have taken care of that interfering _witch,_ too, but oh, well. That's life."

Realization hits like a collision with an eighteen-wheeler.

"You…" Stiles says on a breath. "It's _you_. You're the darach."

"You really are a smart cookie, aren't you, Stiles?" Jennifer sneers. "Although perhaps a little lacking in the common sense area. You shouldn't have gotten in my way, Stiles. Look at all you've made me do."

"I haven't made you do _shit_ , lady. You're a murdering psychopath and I'm putting a stop to this right here, right now."

"I really doubt it…" Jennifer says slowly. Then much to the young witch's horror her lip curls up in a satisfied smirk as she adds, " _Genim_."

Something seizes Stiles, like a giant hand clamping down on his very bones. All the fight leaks out of his body like a punctured water balloon.

Oh, no…

No, no, no, no, _no!_

Stiles recognizes this feeling. It's the same feeling he had when the nemeton was compelling him the night he wandered out into the woods. It's the feeling that his body is not entirely his own.

"No…" Stiles utters, a quiet, useless plea.

" _Yes_ ," Jennifer counters. "Names are so _powerful_ , you know. And it was so _easy_ to get your _real_ name off of your school records once I became your tutor, Stiles. It was a ploy I didn't think I'd have to use, but then you kept thwarting me on the dreamscape. And _then_ you got your little dog's spirit back and _then_ that little redhead started popping up and really it was just becoming too much trouble. I was already planning to change tactics and just kill you here in the real world, " here, she sighs, "but then you went and died and released all your power I had been so carefully keeping in check. You've made things _very_ difficult for me, Stiles."

"So it _was_ you," Stiles says, eyes wide. "It was _all_ you."

"Oh, yes. It was me. It's been me for the past ten years, Stiles."

"What?" the Sheriff asks, the startled word escaping his mouth without thought.

Jennifer tilts her head at him condescendingly. "I know this is still pretty new to you, Sheriff. But the supernatural has long been a part of Beacon Hills. And ten years ago? When Deucalion recruited Kali and made her kill every. Single. One. Of her pack members? It was here that it happened. Good, old Beacon Hills. And it was here that I found the strength I needed to survive in the nemeton, so helpfully granted by Derek's little sacrifice on its roots."

The words hit Derek like an arrow to the heart. He knows that Paige's death is what jump-started the nemeton, but he didn't think that _this_ is what came of it.

"That's right, Derek," Jennifer says. "It's because of you that I was able to survive. I connected with the nemeton and I've been manipulating its flow of power ever since. Of course, then you went and made that contract with it and bumped me right out of line, _Stiles_. But that's all right. I could still complete the ritual and gain control again. _Or_. I could just get it from _you_ instead."

"You bitch," Stiles spits, furious.

"It's not my fault I was left to die, Stiles!" Jennifer snaps.

"Julia," Kali says suddenly, drawing the darach's attention.

"Very good, Kali. I was wondering when you would figure it out. Do you like my new face? No? _How about this one?_ " Jennifer screeches and suddenly the horrific visage from Stiles' dreams is standing there. It's gone in the next second, a pretty, young English teacher standing there as if it never happened. But it did happen and the reaction is almost violent as people flinch back from the haunting image.

Kali looks afraid for all of five seconds. Then her expression hardens and she snarls. "I killed you once. I'll kill you again."

"No, Kali. You won't," Jennifer says.

"You haven't completed the ritual, you aren't strong enough to take _me_ down."

"You're right, I'm not," Jennifer says with false concern. Her head tilts toward Stiles. "But he is."

Stiles and Cor both snap to attention, like little marionettes pulled tight at the strings.

"Stiles," Derek says urgently.

Stiles chokes, trying to get a word out, but he can't.

He _can't_.

"Come now, _Genim_ ," Jennifer says. "Do as I say."

"Stiles—" Derek says, reaching for him.

He's cut off, when Stiles swings an arm out and knocks him flat with a magical percussive blow. The Sheriff ducks under the table, fortunately, missing out on the abuse.

Stiles casts a hand toward Kali and Cor leaps.

Kali gnashes her teeth angrily, but she really doesn't stand a chance.

Cor goes straight for her throat and his teeth meet it with a sickening squelch. Kali gasps, gargles, and then there's a _crunch_. Her claws scrabble uselessly at the body of pure energy, scraping through it like sifting through soil, merely displacing it, never damaging it.

She buckles eventually, going down to her knees, and the wolf releases his hold and steps back. A disgusting trail of viscera pours out of her neck in a slow, thick trickle. She shudders once and then she's gone; her body collapses to the floor, still and silent.

"Now for you, Deucalion," Jennifer says to the man, who has been watching the whole display from the shadows of the hall.

Deucalion doesn't seem horribly alarmed by the declaration, but then again, he can see Stiles' face, while Jennifer can only see the back of his head.

Stiles' eyes are glued to Derek's, desperate and pleading and insistent.

Derek remembers Stiles' words. They run along the taut line of the bond, pulled nearly to breaking by Jennifer's ministrations, echoing in Derek's ears.

_You may have to stop me._

_Knock me out._

_Promise me._

_If I'm ever being led around again…_

_Just knock me over the head and drag me away._

Okay, then.

Derek swings. It's hard—werewolf strength hard—and he's going to feel like the absolute worst person on the planet in about two seconds, but right now—in this very moment—he needs the hit to take.

It connects solidly with the side of Stiles' head and Derek knows it's worked because Cor blips out almost instantly, absorbing into Stiles like reversed vapor. Stiles goes teetering to the side and Derek is quick to catch him, cradle him against him and count his heartbeats, _one-two, one-two, one-two_ , still there, still steady. He knows the chances of killing a witch as supercharged as Stiles is with a blow to the head is as likely as colonizing Antarctica, but still. He has every right to worry about hurting his mate, even unnecessarily.

Jennifer's eyes go wide and furious. She looks at Derek like she's thinking about ripping his head from his shoulders, but before she gets the chance to do anything, the Sheriff barrel-rolls out from under the table, grabs up his gun, aims, and fires.

The shots hit Jennifer square in the shoulder and she grunts in pain. She clutches at her wounds, glaring at the man for a moment. Then she vanishes.

"Impressive…" Peter mumbles from his corner, apparently alive and conscious.  His head drops back against the wall and he mutters, "Good show, everybody."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using Genim for Stiles name because whooooooo knows what it really is and I am not picking something that is hard for me to type, because I am lazy, so there.
> 
> Author out!


	4. The Rest of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little chapter this time. Enjoy, folks!

The Sheriff rushes over to Derek, where he cradles Stiles' unconscious form close. "Stiles. Is he all right?" he asks immediately.

"He's fine," Derek says. "I just knocked him out. It was...something we had agreed to previously."

"Because he was being controlled?" John asks to which Derek nods. "All right."

The Sheriff then moves to Peter. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Oh, yes, fine," Peter says, sitting up all the way. He sounds a little nasally, but he seems to be not brain-damaged and his nose is looking more like a nose and less like a pothole. "Thank you for your concern."

"Okay, good. Let's get Stiles on the couch then," John instructs Derek.

Derek acquiesces, planting himself next to the couch once the teen is laid out across it. He shuffles Stiles' hand until it's held in his.

"Peter," he says to his uncle, "tell the pack what's happened."

"Right," Peter says, wobbling on his feet and using the doorframe for support, upright nonetheless.

"I'm calling Chris to help deal with the bodies," John says, phone already to his ear. That's really a sentence he never thought he'd be saying in his life _ever_ , but hey, the supernatural life is just fun like that.

Derek doesn't speak further, only keeps his eyes trained on Stiles' face, waiting for him to open his eyes. He was right: he does feel like the worst person in the world.

He just really needs Stiles to open his eyes and tell him everything's okay.

"Ummm?" comes from the dining room and Derek and the Sheriff's heads both swivel in Peter's direction.

"What is it?" Derek asks.

Peter's thumbs are poised over his phone's keys amid a text, but his eyes are trained on the Alpha beast's body. "There's a heartbeat…" Peter says slowly. "Two, I think."

"What?" John says coming back into the room, then into the phone, he says, "Chris, get to my house. Now."

The Sheriff hangs up and walks over to the twin's defeated form. Derek watches closely from Stiles' side, while Peter still looks on, mildly disgusted.

Without warning the gargantuan body starts to shudder. The Sheriff steps back and Peter automatically puts an arm out in front of him, backing him toward the living room. Derek is on his feet, but he hasn't let go of Stiles' hand.

The body splits. There are two bodies now, the twins in their separate forms.

They're alive.

"Holy crap," John says, rushing to them.

Peter remains where he is and raises a judgmental brow. "Should we really be helping them? They did try to kill you just a moment ago."

"They're just kids," Sheriff Stilinski says, "and I really don't think they had much choice in the matter."

Peter sighs. "Whatever you say."

"Can you tell if they're going to be all right?"

"Of course, I can tell."

"Well, are they?" John grinds out.

"Not likely. Not without help."

The Sheriff growls, frustrated. "Chris is on his way. We'll take them to Deaton. He can help, right?"

"Yes," Derek says from the living room.

Peter looks at John disapprovingly. "This seems like a poor choice."

"Help me get them to the front hall," the Sheriff commands. Peter sighs again, but uncrosses his arms and obliges.

Once Chris arrives he takes stock of the twins.

"They don't look good," he announces.

"Brilliant observation," Peter says.

Chris glares at him, which Peter returns with a smarmy grin.

"Go to Deaton," Derek says. "I don't know when Stiles will wake up."

Chris and John both nod in agreement and then they're carrying the twins out to Chris' SUV. In broad daylight, which is not great, but they're out of options.

"Stay with Stiles," the Sheriff says.

"Of course," Derek replies.

The two werewolves watch them drive away and then, arms crossed again in that condescending fashion of his, Peter clicks his tongue. "I still say saving them is a bad idea."

"It's not up to you," Derek says.

Peter is about to reply to that with a no doubt scathing comment about how it didn't much seem up to Derek either, but just then both of them pick up on another presence in the room.

They both look in the direction of the dining area to see none other than Marin Morrell standing there. There's another woman with her, but where Morrell is stoic, she's plain disinterested, though the various weapons tucked into her ensemble don't go unnoticed by the Hales. Their attention, however, is on Morrell as she speaks up.

"We'll take care of the body."

Derek's eyes flit briefly to Kali's mangled corpse. Right. Marin is the Alpha Pack's emissary. Although…

"The Alpha Pack," Derek says. "It's finished, isn't it?"

Morrell nods. "It is. Should the twins survive, I imagine they'll defect. Deucalion is out of allies."

"What happens now?" Derek asks.

"That's up to you," she says, then eyes roving over Stiles' peaceful face, "and that boy right there."

Derek knows that's as much of an answer as he'll get from her.

Eyes travelling over to her companion, Derek puts two and two together and says, "You're Braeden."

It's not a question, so she doesn't answer, just cracks a smile at him.

"Why are you doing this?" Derek asks, eyes back on Morrell.

They both understand it's not about removing Kali's body or about Braeden taking down the hunters in the woods or Morrell warning Stiles that night at the bank. It's about something much bigger.

"I think you know why," she says.

Derek does. Emissaries are only emissaries when they are aligned with a particular pack. Some, like Deaton,  become neutral and remove themselves from the playing field all together, whenever they find themselves without a pack. But others, who hold no loyalty to a pack, are loyal instead to the druid's worldly cause: balance.

Things are off balance and Morrell is working to correct it.

And Stiles is her number one pawn.

Derek scoops Stiles up into his arms quite abruptly, very suddenly overcome with the urge to rend Marin limb from limb. In lieu of that he's going to leave—before he changes his mind.

"We'll leave you to it," Derek says.

The two women nod in response. Derek is out the door hastily and Peter follows him with a look on his face that says he knows exactly why they're leaving.

All Derek has to say to his uncle on the matter is: "Bite me."


	5. To Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for this part and folks...the next part will be the last part of the series. I'm working hard on it, trying to make sure it's the kind of ending you wonderful readers deserve. It will probably be a few weeks before I post the first chapter. Hang in there for me, all right? We're almost at the end.

Regaining consciousness is sort of alarming for Stiles, because as soon as he sits up  _three_ pairs of eyes are on him.

"Uh," is his stellar opener.

"Stiles," Derek says, coming over to him.

Lydia is on one side of Stiles and Cora is on the other; Cora moves aside so Stiles is accessible to her brother. Derek gently takes Stiles' head in his hands and turns it this way and that.

"How do you feel?"

Stiles shrugs. "Fine."

"Thank god," Derek breathes out.

Stiles teases him. "You hit me pretty hard, didn't you?"

Derek nods seriously. "I had to make sure."

Switching to a gentler tone of voice and placing a hand on one of Derek's, Stiles says, "I know. It's what I asked you to do. You did good."

When Derek glances at Stiles' face, the witch smiles at him. The werewolf looks decidedly less tense afterward.

"Jennifer and Deucalion both vamoose?" Stiles asks.

"Yes."

"Figures," Stiles says as he climbs out of Derek's bed. He stretches his long arms high above his head. "What's the sitch?"

Lydia informs him, "It's just after three o'clock. Everyone else is downstairs. Including the twins."

Stiles stops short. "The twins? I thought Jennifer snapped their collective neck?"

"She did," Derek says. "But since they were in their combined Alpha form when she did it, _that's_ what died, not their individual selves. They're not Alphas and they can't combine anymore, but they're fine. Deaton helped."

"Wow," Stiles says. "And they're downstairs because...?"

"They want to join up," Cora says, baring her teeth.

"Join up...with us? Be part of our pack?" Stiles questions, disbelief clear in his tone.

Lydia huffs and says, "They say they're through being Deucalion's chew toys. They'd like to go "good-guy"."

"Huh. All right. So...are they in? I mean, what are we waiting for?"

"You," says Derek.

Stiles startles. "Wha—Me? Why, me? You're the Alpha. Isn't it up to you?"

Derek shakes his head. "We make decisions together."

"Oh. Well, all right. Let's go see what they have to say."

 

The twins don't have a whole lot to say aside from "sorry."

Stiles squints at them, face a mask of skepticism. "Well," he says, "you did help find me in the woods that time. I mean, because Lydia made you, but...oh. _Oh_ , no, that totally works for me.

"Ethan, Aiden, you can be part of the pack on a probationary basis. You're probation officer will be: the one and only Lydia Martin. You do what she says, capiche?"

Lydia's lips slowly curl into a smile as she watches the twins for a reaction. The two weres' exchange wary glances with one another. Then Ethan shrugs and Aiden shrugs back.

"Okay," Aiden says.

"Derek, yeah?" Stiles asks.

The Alpha nods, accepting his mate's terms for their two new betas.

"Good," Stiles says. "That's all settled then. Lydia, try not to ruin them."

"Ruin?" Lydia parrots innocently. "Why, when I'm through with them—they'll be _perfect_." She grins winsomely at the two boys.

Aiden and Ethan look distinctly nervous.

"Okay," Stiles says with a clap of his hands. "Let's get a game plan for dealing with the wicked witch, shall we? Is anyone else hungry?"

"Darachs are different from witches," Boyd points out.

"Figure of speech, Boyd, my man," Stiles says. "Either way—that bitch is going down. Seriously—am I the only one who's starving?"

 

Derek's loft is so full of people. It's a sight he never really thought he'd see again. A pack. His pack. _Stiles'_ pack.

The Sheriff and Argent come over after they returned to the Stilinski home to see that Kali's corpse was indeed disposed of. There wasn't a drop of blood left and Sheriff Stilinski balked at it. Chris only admired Morrell's handiwork.

"No wonder there are so many unsolved cases in Beacon Hills," he mutters at the conclusion of his summation.

Stiles claps his dad on the back and says, "Not for long, Daddio."

Then there's pizza.

Derek's not really sure who ordered it; he thinks it might have been Lydia. But the next thing he knows there's a delivery man at the door with a dozen pizzas and twice as many breadsticks and he's signing the receipt. He wonders when they filched his credit card.

There isn't much to the game plan against Jennifer, just to stick together and wait. Isaac expresses concern toward Jennifer just cutting her losses and leaving town to go victimize some other people.

Stiles laughs and says, "Oh, no. She'll stick around. I'm sure."

He doesn't seem concerned. Then again, he doesn't even have a bruise left on his cheek from where Derek struck him. Derek guesses he has every right to be so confident. It doesn't help ease his worry regardless.

There's laughter and merriment and it's strange, _so_ strange, because there are two hunters among them, Argents no less, and two people who were enemies just a handful of hours ago. Yet somehow it works. Derek marvels at it. Then he looks at Stiles, laughing with a breadstick shoved in his mouth, and, in spite of all that's happened to him, counts himself as one of the luckiest men on the planet.

Eventually everyone goes home, but it's pretty late when they do; it's Friday, so no one is obligated to get up for school in the morning. Derek follows the Stilinskis to their house and curls around Stiles once they're in bed. Stiles strokes his hair and thrums with energy. The boy had been right—there s a lot of it now.

Everything seems so peaceful. Just for a moment Derek can fool himself into thinking that it really is.

He should have known it was just the calm before the  storm.

 

"It doesn't make any sense!"

"Stiles," Derek says, "calm down.

"No. It doesn't make _sense_. I don't understand. They were going in order!"

"Stiles, son, we know, just…" the Sheriff trails off, at a loss for words.

"No!" Stiles says again. "I have every right to be un-calm right now. Why the hell would she go and kill _three_ completely _random_ people?! In one night?!"

"They weren't random. They were all healers. The next step," Derek says.

"But—but they weren't any of the ones from my vision."

"Maybe she's changing it up, trying to get the upper hand," Sheriff Stilinski says.

"She said she could use you _or_ continue the ritual. I guess she's going with the ritual. I don't see that as a bad thing," Derek drawls.

"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious," Stiles snaps.

Derek gives him a hard look, so Stiles backtracks. "Sorry. Sorry. Just...what the hell."

"I know," Derek says, looping an arm around Stiles' waist and tucking him into his side.

The Sheriff shakes his head. "Stiles, how well are you going to fare against her if she completes the ritual?"

The only answer Stiles can give is not a good one.

"I don't know."

 

Stiles' body is abuzz with energy. It's nervous and charged and it's emanating from the teen's body in a way Stiles' powers never have before. Derek can practically hear it singing like a swarm of bees drawing ever nearer, but eternally far away. It sends a little thrill down Derek's spine to feel that energy reach out and drape itself across him, wrapping him up in the buzz along with its owner. It makes Derek want to _move_ ; to run, to jump, to fuck, to _fly_.

It is unfortunately not a great time or place for any of that.

"You know...neither of us will ever get to sleep if you don't stop _humming_ ," Derek says into Stiles' hair.

"I know. I can't help it," Stiles says apologetically. He headbutts Derek's chin in penance, but does nothing to calm his magic. "There's too much going on still. The darach is doing god knows what right now. And we don't even know where Deucalion went. I doubt he's done with us though."

"It's likely," Derek says, not one for empty assurances.

"Yeah,” Stiles sighs.

"Try to get some sleep."

"Right back at you."

They exchange a kiss and close their eyes. Stiles hopes to dream, but no visions come to him in his slumber.

The Sheriff is not in tonight. He's out with his deputies in full force, trying to prevent any sacrifices using the information Chris gave him about the pattern of locations people were taken from. Chris is out there with him, while Peter follows at a leisurely pace somewhere behind them and apart from the rest of the crew.

The pack is spread across the town in groups and pairs. Erica and Boyd are together at Erica's house, her parents unwilling to force them apart after their stint as missing persons. Isaac is with Scott; they're both at the hospital keeping watch over Melissa. Cora and Allison are spending the night at Lydia's. The twins are together, wherever they're staying now.

Downstairs, Cor stands guard within a cocoon of magic wrought by the mountain ash that fills every corner of the house. One precaution against Jennifer, one against Deucalion.

Nothing comes for them in the night. It doesn't make anyone feel any safer.

 

Three more are dead in the morning—the philosophers.

Stiles is silent.

Everyone senses that the silence is deceiving, merely a front masking what true emotions roil within the witch—a black, towering storm of fury. Stiles is the elements, barely contained.

"We have to stop her before she completes the ritual," Allison says quietly.

"I know," Stiles says, low and sharp-edged.

"So what do we do?" Scott asks.

Derek and Stiles exchange a look; there's wordless communication there and a push on their bond conveying Stiles' feelings of determination and spite. Derek pushes back with his support.

Finally, Stiles says, "We go after her. We stop her."

"We don't know where she is," Erica points out.

Stiles shakes his head, then looks out evenly across each face.

"I know where to find her."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> http://mommymuffin.tumblr.com/


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